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GPO 16~71Gt 



THE REVOLT AGAINST 
SENTIMENTAL SCRUPLES! 



THE SOCK 

A PLAY OF PROTEST 

BY 

DON ORNO 

TOGETHER WITH 
A FOREWORD ON MARITAL MORALITY 
and UNMORAL MURDER 

BY 

PHIL. HOPE 




PUBLISHED BY 

in04 lEaat^rn farkmae 

Urooklpt, N. 1- 



25 CENTS 



Qjosrxitq. , SoxywtxJk^ (i^uL^^^J 



THE SOCK 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 
BY 

DON ORNO.f^juu^ 

AUTHOR OF 'DEFICIT," "THE UNMARRIED FATHER" 
AND OTHER PLAYS 




1004 iEaatrrn Parktuag 






Copyri«h«. 1918. by 
S. B. ORNITZ 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. FOR DRAMATIC 
PRIVILEGE WRITE TO THE PUBUSHER 



'GI.D 51949 



m '3 i^iy 



A Word on Marital Morality 
and Unmoral Murder 

by way of preface. 

SINCE Bernard Shaw began bombarding the decadent moralities and 
sancti ies, the echoes of criticism have steadily rumbled thru let- 
ters, politics, religion and life in general. 

In the melee, the drama has become the literary weapon for 
shooting the new idea into the unwary mind. Naturally, those issues 
closest to the inner life of us all have supplied the most powder. Of 
these, sex is easily first. 

The cry of sex-freedom which has been ringing in our ears for 
some time merely portends the coming of a new morality. That mid- 
Victorian drivelings on marital morality are at odds with our rapidly 
developing pagan leanings, that popular beliefs in narrow faithfulness 
to wife or husband — so sublimely emphasized in the silent and spoken 
drama of Broadway — may not always be moral or beautiful is growing 
clearer as the hours pass. 

False notions of living still swaddle us in too many sup- 
pressed impulses. Social psj'chologists, as well as untutored 
laymen, are beginning to question the wisdom of clamping sex emotions 
within seal-tight compartments. Yes, we are growing impatient of New 
England rigidities. Can it be that the spirit of another Renaissance is 
beating in our blood? 

Of the many conflicts precipitated by the sex-life of our time, one 
that is seldom discussed, tho most commonly suffered, is whether love 
must remain satisfied within the bounds of the marriage circle or dare 
it rightfully venture beyond. 

To answer the question in the light of an outgrown morality is 
too easy. It ignores the basis of a governing universal creed; the great- 
est happiness for Me — here and now, demanding new adjustments. It 
ovei'looks the fact that the great urge behind woman's cry for emanci- 
pation is, consciously or unconsciously, sex-freedom. 

Don Orno in "The Sock" attempts no categorical answer; preaches 
no inept sermon. He draws a picture with artistic skill and lets life 
talk thru his persons. 

"The Sock" is a radio-flash across the black night of love conven- 
tions and marital superstitions. It squares the old triangle and gives 
it a modern setting. 

The play is not a flippant or lurid treatment of forbidden love 
with a dash of Gallic pepper. It is an honest exposition of beautiful, 
open love — despite legally wedded partners — ^between kindred spirits; 
which love today may hypocritically show its face only in the rear-alleys 
of city Bohemias. 



The author contrasts the emotional with the cerebral woman; the 
orthodox male with the heterodox, vivifying the crossing of old preju- 
dices and new insights. 

The new age says in effect that freedom to love shall not be 
abridged. Tolerance between man and wife, which is nothing but part 
pride, part condescension, will not suffice. Only acute sympathy, deep, 
deep understanding of the vagaries of sex emotion will eliminate dilem- 
mas of devotion to wife or husband versus sincere love for another. 

The theme runs along a double thread. Intrudes a second ques- 
tion: Is murder ever unmoral? Doctors have been known to cause death 
in certain instances. Nations at war have not hesitated to conscript 
lives. Specifically, may a useless, money-hoarding hag be cut off in order 
to save a poet? The reader is left to judge the criminality of the crime 
and whether the pagan explanation of joy and service suffice. 

But — we have already tarried too long. 

Before the curtain rises, be it noted that Don Orno is one of the 
most promising of our younger dramatists, who has consistently refused 
to sell his soul to the commercial devils of Broadway, tho ten-fold more 
gifted than the playmongers who peddle their cheap wares for uncriti- 
cal audiences. 

"The Sock" is submitted as an honest offering toward the birth 
of a genuine American drama. 

PHIL HOPE. 
Brooklyn, N. Y., 1919. 



THE SOCK 



PERSONS IN THE PLAY. 

OSCAR, a violinist; a restless protestant and pagan; his physique is 
strong and sjnnmetric; speaks with conscious lyrical intonation. 

NATALIE, his wife; reposeful; womanly after the old order; has a 
plain face lit up by brilliant brown-black eyes. 

CLARA, a poet with a new inspiration; womanly after the new order; 
her face combines the hectic and shadowy loveliness of the ro- 
mantic stage of tuberculosis. 

HARRY, her husband; self-eflFacing, melancholic; weakly altruistic; a 
wavering radical. 

KATIE, a slavey tho a grandmother; an active old woman; gaunt, grey 
and slight; speaks in high-pitched tones. 



ONE ACT 

SCENE : The living room of a West 11th Street furnished flat of the 
"Modem" type of perhaps twenty years ago. Its present occu- 
pants have nearly succeeded in toning down its blatant ugliness. 
R. front and L. C. are doors... R. C. is a mantel-piece with its 
mi'rror partly concealed by a black and yellow Japanese screen. 
L. front is a wall telephone. Back stage are two curtainless win- 
dows looking out on a backyard. The right window shows the 
TV^ty framework of a fire-escape. Between the windows stands 
a wide couch covered ivith an Indian blanket on which lies an open 
violin case, showing instrument and bow. Back-stage left is a 
steam-heater and in front of it a morris chair. Centre is a small 
table; to the left a rocking-chair. Several chairs in different parts 
of the room. Gaslight chandelier over table. 

Time: Early evening. 
Discovered : 

OSCAR, in the morris chair with his feet stretched towards the steam 
heater, and NATALIE, seated at the table, painting on china. 



THE SOCK. 



NATALIE : Dear — (Pauses for but gets no response. Louder) : Dear — 
OSCAR (barely audible) : Yes, Natalie. 

NATALIE: I think I don't paint badly on china (Holds up 

her work for him to see. Oscar broods with eyes half-closed. Dis- 
appointed, she resumes painting. Pause.) And — I am think- 
ing of selling my work — (Apparently unheard. Pause.) To help 
keep Clara in the mountains. — 

OSCAR (starts up; rises and stands beside Clara; in a husky voice): 
Natalie — you are very good. 

NATALIE (smiling): Oh, no (Laughing, quietly.) It serves my 

purpose to keep Clara far away in the mountains. 

OSCAR: No, Natalie, you are kind, kind beyond words I believe you 

would do everything to keep Clara here if it would make 

me happy. 

NATALIE: What! Am I not a woman — your wife! 

OSCAR (studies her a second) : No: you are an angel. 

NATALIE (with a throaty, rippling laugh that seems wrung from a 
sob) : O! Oscar, Oscar, I'd rather be a woman. (Nestles her head 
against his sleeve.) 

OSCAR (lightly kissing her hair) : Indeed you are one woman in a 
million ! 

(A timid knock on the door. Oscar opens the door and admits 
Katie.) 
Ah, good evening, Katie. (Smiling.) Our rent is paid. 

NATALIE: Good evening, Katie. 

KATIE (walks to C. and Oscar closes door.) Let me stay a minute, 
won't you? 

NATALIE: Certainly; with pleasure. 

OSCAR: Of course. Make yourself right to home. 

KATIE: Thank you very kindly, folks. It ain't 'bout yourself I've come 
— but your neighbors. 

NATALIE: Yes— 

KATIE (regretfully) : The missus is goin' to put 'em out. I feel sorry 
for the pore sick thing. I'm hopin' somethin' could be done. 

OSCAR (morose) : Your dear old slave-driver will be spared the 
trouble. They leave to-night. 

NATALIE: Yes, Clara is going to the mountains to heal her lungs. 

KATIE (nodding her head in approval) : That's good the pore little 

critter The missus keeps complainin' their rent's alius be- 
hind and acursin' the little woman for coughin' all night. 

OSCAR (savagely) : She's a brutal old carcass, isn't she? She has no 
more soul than one of her sabertoothed bed-bugs. 

KATIE: The old woman is got her faults, I aint denyin'. (With con- 
viction) : But she must have a soul, havin' religion. 



THE SOCK 



OSCAR: The two go together, eh? 

KATIE: I don't see how as not. (Starts for the door.) 

NATALIE: Sit do-vyn a moment, Katie. 

KATIE: Thank you, ma'am: (Takes the rocking-chair.) The truth to 

tell, I'm jest achin' for a little conversation if you don't mind 

(Oscar returns to the morris chair). There's no talkin' to 

the old un. She mumbles to herself exceptin' when she's lay- 
in' you out — then she's clear enough 'tho there aint a tooth in 

her mouth She's seen more'n eighty years, but her mind's as 

bright as a new knife — and sharp I tell you 

NATALIE: But Katie, speak for yourself. You're more than holding 
your own. 

KATIE: Well, ma'm, seein' as how I'm more'n seventy and in the sei*v- 
ice of a partikler housekeeper — it's sayin' somethin'. 

NATALIE: Wouldn't it be nice if you could stop working and rest your 
old bones? 

KATIE: I reckon my chance for rest '11 come when they lay me out 

I aint complain' With the Lord's sanction I brung eleven child- 
ren into the world; four are alive. Them has their own cares 
now — little ones too — and I looks to myself. 

OSCAR: Resignation makes Rockefeller's world go round! 

KATIE: Aint that a funny thing to ^ay! 

OSCAR (glumly) : It's the saddest think I know of. 

KATIE: Whatever it means it don't do no good to be down in the 
mouth. You mought as well be cheerful. 

OSCAR (rising and walking about nervously) : The supine Pollyanna 
philosophy 

NATALIE: Oh, Oscar! That language will never satisfy Katie's 
craving for conversation. 

KATIE (good-naturedly) : Book speech is alius wasted on me, but can 
I expect folks to come down to my unlearned level? I'm thank- 
ful jest to be with folks that are social-like. 

OSCAR (standing in front of Katie and taking her hand, impulsively) : 
Natalie is right. It's bad taste. But look here, Katie, as a friend 
to a friend, how many minutes of the livelong day are you happy 
being slavey to that old skinflint? 

KATIE (shaking her head; sadly) : I guess you know, sir But we 

don't like to give in. (Oscar releases her hand and resumes strid- 

«.. ing about the room). We don't like to give in, I don't even have 
a dog's life. A dog has his corner and bone. But neither a min- 
ute nor a crumb can I call my own. The missus is a wakeful 
critter. She never leaves that wheel chair of hern and takes only 
cat naps. She's spyin' on me all the time, cursin' me with her 
scratchy voice and weighin' and measurin' the vittles which I 

snatch and eat like a sneak thief behind a fence Sometimes 

I think 'twould've been better to be born dead. 

NATALIE: Oh, Katie, we're so sorry. 



THE SOCK 



OSCAR: Katie, not all. You are not an object for pity. You've been 
cheated. 

KATIE: Cheated, sir? 

NATALIE: Never mind, Katie; you want conversation — not a treatise 
on old age pensions, or motherhood endowments. (To Oscar) : In 
another moment, dear, j'ou'Il make this sound like a play of ideas. 
You know, propaganda is the bane of drama; people don't go to 
the theatre to think, — they can read Brisbane's editorials. 

OSCAR: Natalie, Katie, I beg y(^ pardons. We must let the facts 
speak for themselves. Natalie, be good enough to direct the 
dialectics. 

KATIE: You've got me all bewildered-like . 



NATALIE: Katie, that's how Oscar and I have fun. We pretend we 
are people in a play. We get so that we take our ill-luck as a 
make-believe affair that will be over in a little while when the 
curtain rings down. 

KATIE (shaking her finger at Oscar) : There, sir, you're no better'n 
me; we all has our ways of not givin' in; I don't want to dis- 
courage you, but I'm of a mind the curtain don't ring down 'cept 
for good. 

OSCAR (amused): Ha! ha! Katie, you've got me, haven't you? 
(Seriously) : But I keep protesting — there's the difference. 

KATIE: It's well enough for the young what can help theirselves — to 
protest! Look at me! What can I do? Who'll have an old woman 
with one foot in the grave for help Why, sir, I got to be con- 
tent. My own children find me in the way. And it's either this 

or the poor farm. (Rising.) And I'll never go to the poor 

farm while there"s a breath in me! 

OSCAR: There, there! That's splendid protest! 

NATALIE: Good, good. You are a kindred spirit. Sit down and let 
us talk some more. 

KATIE: Thank you, m'am; thank you, I'm sure. But the missus '11 
be screamin' for me in a minute; she's that nervous about the 
sock . 

OSCAR: The sock . 



KATIE (impressively) : That's where she keeps it! 

OSCAR: Keeps what? 

KATIE: The rent money! She won't trust no bank, she won't. And 
it's stuffed so full and hard — it could make a perfect bludgeon. 

NATALIE: But that isn't safe, is it, Katie? 

KATIE: That's just it, m'am. But she won't trust no bank. And she's 
afrettin' 'bout the sock frightful. (In a lower tone) : What's 
more, she thinks there's a masked man prowlin' round the fire- 
escape near where she sits. Many a time she screams, "There he 
is, there he is." I run and look and see no one. She's that scared 
'bout the sock, — she's took to settin' on it, and it 'pears to me 
she's moughty uncomfortable. 



THE SOCK. 



NATALIE: How queer! 

(Oscar seems in deep thought). 

KATIE : Good night, folks, and I thank you for lettin' me be company. 

NATALIE: Good night, Katie. Come again soon. 

OSCAR (starting) : Oh, good night, good night. 

KATIE (goes to R. door, opens it, steps out and exclaims "Good evenin" 
to persons in the hallway. The mingled voices of a tnan and 
ivoman answer her greeting.) 

OSCAE (rising and going to the door) : Ah, there's Clara and Harry. 
(Enter Clara and Harry; the latter carrying two suit-cases, ivhich 
he leaves front stage C). 

All packed I see! (To Clara, solicitiously) : Let me take your 
things. Sit down; do. You mustn't stand, you know. (Clara 
takes the rocking-chair). That's better. 

CLARA (slipping out of her coat, which Oscar takes) : Everyone is 
good and thoughtful! I am sure one of you will find a way to 
breathe for me. 

HARRY: Oh, dear, if we could! 

OSCAR (throwing her coat upon the couch and returning to Clara's 
side) : Up there in the mountains kind Mother Nature will do it 
for you Oh, I say, do take oif your hat; let us see your hair. 

CLARA: Of course (revioves her hat and places it on the table.) 

OSCAR (hovers about Clara Mtirmurs in her ear). How we shall 

miss you (Caressing her hair) : Fragrant as April lilacs and 
blue-black as April night! 

CLARA: O, Oscar, I shall hear your words in a beautiful symphony of 
memory. 

HARRY: It is beautiful to hear poets talk! 

NATALIE: Poets' talk is commonplace; but lovers' talk is beautiful. 

OSCAR (to Natalie) : Your understanding is beautiful! 

CLARA: Ah, yes, understanding! Understanding is the jewel con- 
ceived of the mind's development . 

NATALIE: I try to understand, not only with my mind, but with my 
heart. 

CLARA: The mind discovered the heart. 

HARRY : I beg pardon, I don't want to interrupt, but our train goes in 
half an hour. 

OSCAR (taking Clara's hands) : Half an hour! 

CLARA: Oh, Oscar, I don't see that it's worth while! Our funds will 
carry us only three months. And three months of mountain air 
wont heal my sick lungs. It would be only a slight palliative. 
I'd rather stay here — even if the doctor says it's my death sen- 
tence! 



THE SOCK. 



HARRY: It's selfish of me to want to go along. I'll stay behind, and 
that'll give you six months. And maybe I'll find something profit- 
able to do, after all. 

OSCAR (agitated) : That was settled long ago! Harry, you must go! 
You are better than a thousand nurses! 

CLARA: But only three months — little good — . 

OSCAR: We are here — Natalie and I. We'll find a way to keep you 
there. 

CLARA : Natalie—. 

NATALIE (brightly) : Indeed! I have taken to painting on china. 

CLARA: For me? 

NATALIE: Certainly, Clara, I want to keep you away as long as 
possible. 

HARRY: You don't know how grateful I am, Natalie. 

CLARA: Oscar May I say something strange? I rejoice that I 

am dying of consumption. It makes possible our love idyll. It's 
their pity (indicating with a stveep of her amis Harry and Nator 
lie) that permits , 

OSCAR: No, no, on the contrary, consumption has kept us apart — . 

CLARA (quickened astonishment) : Kept us apart! 

OSCAR: Yes, but understand me. If I would let go my passion would 
consume you in one flame. 

HARRY: Ah, I know what that means 

CLARA (compassionately) : Harry Oh, Harry 

HARRY: Yes, dear, I whipped passion out like a ravening cur. Say, 

have I not been as a father . 

(Natalie resumes painting on china.) 

CLARA: Dear, dear, more . 

OSCAR: So. ...so... .Harry. I have come to know that. You have kept 
her alive. You are as necessary to her as a mother to a stricken 
babe. She is more than wife, more than well-beloved, — she is a 
poet with a new inspiration. Art's sustenance is the new inspira- 
tion. Take her away and preserve her to life and art. Win her 
back to health and your reward shall be . 

HARRY (eagerly) : My reward — . 

OSCAR (lowers his head, and after a minute's silence, shows in an elo- 
quent gesture that he ivill give up Natalie; whispers) : Yes, yes 

(Walks about the room nervously). And don't worry. I 

will find a way to keep you there; that shall be my bit. 

CLARA (alarmed) : Which means — parting forever Is that easier 

than death? Harry, Harry, forgive me, no, no, stretch your 

already boundless pity but, Natalie, I can ask no more of you. 

NATALIE: Shall I tell you my mind — candidly? 

CLARA: Do do 



THE SOCK. 

NATALIE: Death would be easier — . 

HARRY {pained; startled) : Oh, Natalie — . 

NATALIE: I, too, am a woman I want Oscar. Go with him and 

have your love's deliria — with the early inevitable end. In the 
grey gloom I shall come to him as a warm light. Maybe, — he'll 

be consumptive then and need me more. But I pray God that 

then I may be the only woman. 

HARRY {hGrrlfied by her brutal frankness) : Don't please ohy 

don't—. 

OSCAR {impatiently) : We're done with all that My word, Clara, 

how you talk of parting forever. Forever! Another spin of the 
cycle and we meet again. The next time may be our love's 
Nirvanna! 

CLARA: Yes, indeed how I have talked of separation — as tho love 

depended on physical nearness . 

NATALIE: I need him always near; — the world is a void without him. 

CLARA : I defy distance, time, pain. Oscar is the rythm of my con- 
sciousness; the leit motif of my senses Out there the trees, 

Oscar, will talk with your lyrical voice and the birds of the 

deep, pure forest will trill your love songs {Rhapsodic) : Day- 
long, nightlong the streams rippling with your laughter; the 

freshening breeze your caress; the sun's glow your warm, life- 
giving kisses — how then shall I be lonesome! 

HARRY {sobbing) : Oh, Clara, Clara, there is nothing for me — nothing! 

CLARA: Nothing nothing save gratitude, reverence . 

HARRY {courageously) : Don't mind me, dear. Forgive the childish 
outbreak Emotion has a way of whelming philosophic resig- 
nation. Time and time again I renounce the mere chance that 

made you may wife Even as you, I was, of the moderns, holding 

marriage a scrap of paper and mutual love the only tie that 
binds Yet when the trial came . 

CLARA {sympathetically) : How you have been tried . 



HARRY: How could I rend the past that welded me to you Alas, I 

spring from conventional stock; was reared in an atmosphere of 
Victorian reserve and respectability. I recall sweet memories of 
faith, peace and decency, and lapse into bourgeoise dreams of 
sacred family life, — followed by dark hours of loss when I blame 
Bohemian camarderie. 

OSCAR {ca^istic) : Banal and trite recriminations. 

HARRY {stung) : Yes, Oscar in that world of restraint and rule the 
first instinct of a gentleman is not to make love to a friend's 
wife. 

{Clara's face shows that she regards this outburst as sheer 
blasphemy.) 

NATALIE {laughing) : And he would remember his responsibility to 
his wife. 



THE SOCK. 



OSCAR (bored) : Oh, let us have done with burgeois atavism. Senti- 
mental introspection is the foe of individualism. 

NATALIE (serioiis) : Because we behold onrself in the white light of 
our conscience! 

CLARA (severely) : Conscience is the pall with which the church stifles 
the soul. 

OSCAR (laughing and moving about the room restlessly) : Ha! Ha! 
We are making our last supper a feast of heavy epigrams. 
(Stops and his eyes rest on the framework of the fire-escape. 
With a sudden move he places the screen in front of the window, 
shutting out the view of the fire-escape.) 

OSCAR: I say, a little wine would go well. Let us drown weighty 
words in light wine Wine by all means. 

HARRY (studying his watch) : There are only a few minutes. 

OSCAR (gayly) : There's always time for wine. 

CLARA (musically) : Wine wine 

HARRY (carrying the refrain) : Wine wine 

NATALIE: We have little time and no wine 

HARRY: I'll run and get it 

OSCAR: No no, let us remain together. Natalie, send your signal 

for Katie. She'll fetch it. 

NATALIE (going to steam-heater): Listen. (With her ringed finger 
strikes thrice on the steam-heater pipe. A moment later a re- 
sponse is heard — three taps on the pipe below.) That means she'll 
come right up. (Oscar disappears behind the screen). Katie is 
be'ter than a bell-boy. And seventy years do not make her feel 
less fleet (Facetiously) : The survival of the fleetest. (Laughter. 
A knock on the door.) 

HARRY (still merry) : Come in, good Katie, come in. 

KATIE (entering) : It's good to see you folks havin' a good time. 

NATALIE: We're having a good-bye party. Katie, could you go out 
for a bottle of chianti? 

KATIE (cheerfully) : An' glad I am to do it. The missus is takin' one 
of her naps. (Takes the dollar bill which Natalie holds out to 
her). (Exits,) 

HARRY: What a good soul she is! 

NATALIE: Yes, indeed. 

CLARA (meditative; after several moments of silence, looks about the 
room) : Where is Oscar . 

HARRY: No one saw him go. 

NATALIE (merrily) : Come out Oscar. I saw you go behind the 
screen 

HARRY (after a mo-ment's silence, looks behind the screen) : He's not 
here. 



THE SOCK. 



NATALIE: I'm sure I saw him. 

CLARA: Let us not take notice. He may be preparing a surprise. 
(The sound of scraping and stirring is heard behind the screen. 
They see Oscar emerge. His face is pale and tense, and there is 
something under his coat which causes the garment to bulge.) 

OSCAR (staccato) : Quick, Harry, open one of the bags. 

HARRY (impelled by the intensity of his tone) : Righto — . (Kneels 
and hastily opens the nearest valise. Oscar takes from under his 
coat a long black object, apparently a women's stocking stuffed 

to capacity Natalie gasps, and her eyes open wide; but she 

instantly exercises control Oscar jams the stocking into the 

bag and hurriedly closes it. Harry fastens the buckles and 
straps.) Well, well, it's in, whatever it is! 

OSCAR (straightening himself ; very solemn) : Never breathe a word 
of the stuffed stocking. It doesn't exist. Everything hangs on 
that. Remember, above all, that I haven't left this room or your 
sight for an instant. 
(Clara's and Harry's faces show how mystified they are.) 

OSCAR: I said I would find a way. (Triumphantly) : That sock is full 

of money. 
HARRY: Full of money! 

CLARA: Fancy . 

OSCAR: Yes, enough for years. 

(A knock on the door. Softly) : Not a word; be yourself 

Come in Katie. (Enter Katie carrying a bottle.) Good, Katie. 

You haven't been a minute. 
KATIE (pridefully) : I aint so old that I can't shake a leg. 

(Laiighter) . 
OSCAR (taking the bottle) : Sit down a minute, Katie, and make merry 

with us . 

KATIE: Thank you, kindly sir, I dassint. 

OSCAR: But a sip of wine! Yes, you must have a sip of wine. Natalie, 

the glasses, please. (Natalie exits L. and returns with a tray and 

four glasses. Oscar's hand is steady as he uncorks the bottle and 

fills the glasses.) Here we are. (Natalie holds out the tray and 

each takes a glass. Oscar poises his glass) : Here's to Life Force 

and Holy Protest. 

KATIE (drinking) : The Lord love us all. 

HARRY (merely touches his lips to the brimming glass and places it 
on the table.) We must go at once to make our train. (Nervous- 
ly looks for and finds his hat and shakes hands tvith all. He takes 
up the suit-cases.) Good-bye, good-bye, dear friends. 

OSCAR (taking Clara's glass which she has just emptied) : I'll get your 
things. (Brings her hat and holds her coat for her.) 

CLARA (rises and looks long into Oscar's face; tenderly) : Farewell, 
dear Oscar. ( Walks to Natalie and takes her hand) : Good-bye, 
Natalie. 

NATALIE: God bless you, Clara. 

CLARA: Thank you, dear. (Kisses Natalie's hand, impulsively). 



THE SOCK 



NATALIE: Oh, Clara. {Tears appear in her eyes. She embraces 
Clara. ) 

KATIE (opening the door) : Good night, folks and God bless you. 

OSCAR \ 

HARRY ( 

NATALIE ( = G«^^ "i&^<^- 

CLARA ' 

(Exit Katie) 
OSCAR (in a strained whisper) : Go, go good-bye, good-bye. 

CLARA ( (touched) : Good-bye — (They go out silently, leaving the 
HARRY j door open.) 

OSCAR (after closing the door; briskly) : Be matter of fact. Katie 
will be up in a minute. (Natalie returns to the china.) Well, 
Natalie, how much will one of your decorated dishes fetch? 

NATALIE: Very little. 

OSCAR (taking up his violin and tuning it) : And my fiddling? At 

best barely ekes out a living Well there had to be a way. 

(Tries the strings with his fingers. Takes up the bow and is 
about to play.) 

NATALIE: Dont'— . How can you? 

OSCAR: A merry tune goes well with a good deed. (Plays a wild, 
merry, impromptu air.) 

NATALIE : You are quite mad. (A knock on the door followed by a 
nervous tatoo of raps.) 

OSCAR: Come in, come in — (continues to play). 

KATIE (entering, is pale and trembling) : Oh, sir, stop a moment. 
Something dreadful has happened. 

OSCAR (stopping) : What's that, Katie? 

KATIE: Oh, sir, something dreadful (covers her face with her hands) : 
awful, awful, oh — oh — . 

OSCAR: What can it be! Have you seen a mouse? 

KATIE: Oh, the Lord forgive you, sir; don't jest now! The missus 

Lord (gasps for breath). 

NATALIE (soothingly) : Do sit down, Katie. Has something happened 
to the missus? 

KATIE (seats herself but rises again): Oh, ma'm, its terrible. Hap- 
pened while I was out. Seems the missus was right after all — 
a burglar! 

NATALIE 1 , , , , 
OSCAR r = A burglar! 

KATIE (wringing her hands) : A burglar and the missus is alayin' 

there like dead . 

NATALIE (startled) : Like dead—. 



THE SOCK. 



OSCAR: Are you sure? 

KATIE: There aint no life to her at all. There's a black and blue 
mark across her forehead like she was hit with somethin' heavy — 
mebbe a bludgeon 

NATALIE: Oh brutally murdered—. 

OSCAR {quite self-possessed) : We must notify the police. 

NATALIE (frightened) : The police—. 

OSCAR: Of course. The sooner, the better. 

KATIE: They might catch the thief . 

NATALIE: The thief— oh— . 

KATIE: Yes, m'am, the sock is gone! 

OSCAR {quietly) : So, the sock is gone. {Walks to the wall telephone 
and takes up the receiver.) Police Headquarters, please. 

NATALIE: Oscar—. 

OSCAR {placing his hand over the transmitter) : Don't be upset, 
my dear. It's a well known fact that when a police officer is face 
to face with the obvious he sees nothing. He seeks rather the 
mysterious. It's our duty to aid the police and we mustn't let 

mysterious clues get cold Hello, — Headquarters? This is the 

apartment of Oscar Greaves, 4119 West 17th Street. I have just 
been informed that murder and burglary were committed in the 
apartment below mine. Send officers at once and have them see 

me first Yes, 4119 West 17th Street Very Good. 

{Hangs up the receiver.) 

KATIE: Thank you, kindly, sir — {starts for door) — I must tidy up 
'fore the police come. 

OSCAR: The first instinct of a housekeeper. 

KATE: I'll reflect on me, sir, if it is untidy. She wouldn't like it, sir, 
if she was alive. 

OSCAR: By the way, Katie, there might be some blame put on you — . 

KATIE: Oh, sir on me — . 

OSCAR: For leaving her alone. But we know you were gone barely a 
minute. 

KATIE: Thank you, sir, it were only a minute. 

OSCAR: We were here all the time, and saw you go and come. I'm 
quite sure it was only a minute. 
{Exit Katie aflutter.) 

NATALIE {sits quietly with hands in lap. Oscar takes up the violin 
and again plays the fantastic tune.) Oscar, how can you — after — 

OSCAR {stopping) : I'll not play if it annoys you. But I must give 
vent to the exultation — . 

NATALIE {repelled) : Exult — exultation — {rises.) Oh, — murder — ^mur- 
der — oh — {aghast). 



THE SOCK. 



OSCAR: Murder, pshaw! It takes but a puff — to put out a gutter- 
ing candle. 

NATALIE: Are you without feeling? 

OSCAR: I feel joy in my whole being. I feel buoyant. The v/eight of 
pelf has been lifted from us all. 

NATALIE: Oh, how could you? A defenseless, feeble old woman 

oh! Brutal brutal worse cowardly! 

OSCAR {thoughtfully and in meaured tones) : No.. ..it takes strength, 
fearlessness — to slay sentimental scruples. 

OSCAR: Did I kill for gain, glory, power? No Did I strike down 

a creature in the full vigor of life, creative, joyous? No I 

destroyed an ugly, strangling weed to preserve a beautiful plant. 
I serve posterity. One artist means more to the march of ages 
than ten million money-grubbers! 

NATALIE {heart-broken) : Oh, Oscar, — how you love Clara! How you 

love Clara! You did it all for her — not for art, not for 

posterity ! 

OSCAR {coldly) : It is not the murder that outrages you you are a 

woman after all jealous! 

NATALIE: I am always a woman where you are concerned. 

OSCAR {wanders about the room; his spirit droops; speaks in a tired, 

worn voice): Well, there's nothing left {As if to himself): 

My task is done What is left for me? {Stops. With decision) : 

Let the police come. I'll save them a lot of bother. 

NATALIE: What can you mean — , 

OSCAR: I mean to confess — . 

NATALIE: Confess— oh — oh—. 

OSCAR: Why not? There's nothing left to live for Clara belongs 

to Harry I promised 

NATALIE: And I . 

OSCAR {surprised) : Eh? I thought you would be glad to see retribu- 
tion overtake the murderer of an old woman. {Drops tiredly into 
the rocking-chair). 

NATALIE {kneels beside him) : Oscar, Oscar live for me. I am 

only a woman. Nothing matters wrongs, crimes nothing 

matters to a woman. Live for me. Oscar, Oscar, — live for me — . 
{Oscar stares vacantly beyond her.) 

CURTAIN. 



TRIUMPH 

I saw Triumph 

That harlot! 

That cozening, bedizzened courtesan! 

That succubus. 

With fascinating witchery she entices! 

She lavishes herself on all men, 

But 

Her real lover is 

Pestilent, brutal, blasphemous Death 

Disguised as Mars! 

I saw a sea — so red — so awfully red- 
And on it float a barkentine 
Made of the bones of men 
Dried in their passions, 
Covered with the skin of men 
Stretched in agony! 

And there 

Triumph and her lover. Death, 
Whirl nightly in the danse macabre! 



Frances Kohan 



BROTHERLY GREETINGS and a HANDCLASP! 



Have you ever heard the critics, non-critics and critical 
pretenders ask : What is the matter with American literature? 

Of course. 

Well, friend, the reason is obvious. We of these United 
States have been knowingly and unknowingly encouraging, 
patronizing and dieting on the trite, the banal, the ordinary. 

Mountains of newspaper rubbish, sententious slush and 
journalistic flim-flam are daily ^ground out by the never-ceas- 
ing mills and snatched up by the unthinking, the gullible! 

You, sir or madam, are the criminaL 

Every time you purchase, you create a demand. 

What more need be said? 

As we go along, we intend to gather up the choicest 
products of the pen, grown on our own soil. 

We hope thereby to create a demand for the better 
things in our literature. 

Let then the obscure, the modest, the rejected, the de- 
feated take heart. A hungry public soon awaits your sincere 
offerings. 

The frail flowers that a commercial market spurns must 
not be allowed to perish. 

American letters must bloom as radiantly as contempor- 
ary European letters. Of that, we are determined. 

Are you with us? 

Then pass the word along. 



And now — reader — having patiently travelled with us a 
short way, we would not willingly part unknown. 

Will you send us a word oft two expressing either an 
opinion, (favorable or unfavorable) a criticism, a suggestion, 
or merely a friendly word of encouragement. At any rate, 
your name and address should embellish our mailing list. 

Let it not be said that we live in a world that is still 
covertly hostile or stolidly indifferent to its artists. 

All correspondence and requests for extra copies of this 
pamphlet (at 25c) should be addressed to: 

1004 SaHtrrn Jarkmag 
Srnakljin. 5?. f. 



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